


Dance Halls Turn to Ghost Towns

by honorablementioned



Series: Controversy Loves Company (Villain Con AU) [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Dark Will, Fluff, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Esteem Issues, Smitten Hannibal, Villain Con AU, Will POV, Will Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorablementioned/pseuds/honorablementioned
Summary: The Ripper - the famous murderer extraordinaire who kills and eats the rude - is in his hotel room and Will is hiding in the adjoining bathroom, trying not to throw up. He doesn't know why he agreed to this, because it's so unlike him. Will isn't the type of person to just invite people back to his place for a quickie -correction, Will doesn't invite people back to his place for a quickie and let themlive.--AU in which Hannibal attends a villain convention; Will runs a kissing booth and doesn't know how to deal with feelings.





	Dance Halls Turn to Ghost Towns

Will doesn't know what to do with himself.

He pats his hair down to try and calm the stray curls. He attempts to smooth out his shirt as well, the wrinkles and creases seemingly never ending. He runs a hand over his face, reprimanding himself for not shaving this morning because he looks like a hot mess - a hot, disgusting mess who cannot stop panicking because the Chesapeake Ripper is in his hotel room.

The Ripper - the famous murderer extraordinaire who kills and eats the rude - is in his hotel room and Will is hiding in the adjoining bathroom, trying not to throw up. He doesn't know why he agreed to this, because it's so unlike him. Will isn't the type of person to just invite people back to his place for a quickie - _correction_ , Will doesn't invite people back to his place for a quickie and let them _live_.

Being Cupid is an outlet for him. Under the guise of Cupid, he can let his inhibitions run free. He doesn't let himself worry about his anxieties. He doesn't let himself think about the aftermath, and instead lets his mind focus on the here and now. At the end of his encounter with his chosen prey he doesn't have to think about what someone thought of him, or what someone was going to say about him, because he controlled the outcome. He's the victor each and every time, and no one can say any different.

His first kill wasn't planned at all.

The night it had happened, Will had been at the bar to let off some steam. Jack Crawford is the head of the Behavioral Science Unit at the FBI base in Quantico and a pain in Will's ass, but he's also Will's only chance to do field work. Earlier that week, Jack had asked Will to come look at a few cases for him. Will's sanity was a hefty price to pay, but he was saving lives, so he convinced himself to push through the horror and the nightmares that followed him into his sleep. 

So Will figured he could sit and have a few drinks before going back to his night scares. Maybe flirt with a few people, as he was more pliant and willing to socialize with a drink or two in his system. 

A couple people had approached him that night, all normal and all wanting the same thing from the pretty face in the corner of the bar. He wasn't feeling up to making an effort, until another man had walked up and offered to buy him his last round.

There was nothing overly special about the man; black hair, blue eyes, soft face and average build. Will's first thought was to say no, but he had taken another glance at the man and just a few seconds of eye contact made him change his mind. In that instant, Will saw the man for what he truly was, thanks to his empathy. Standing in the man's mental shoes, Will felt the darkness and the _want_ ; the hand in the man's pocket was holding onto a packet of powder, and he was going to use it to spike Will's drink. He felt disgusted with the man's intent, his motive. But, he didn't say no. Instead, he leaned onto the bar, closer to the man, and made his own proposition. 

Will let himself get lost in the moment; he laughed and joked with the man, leaned onto him as they made their way out of the bar. Will acted as though he was tipsier than he really was, to make the man seem like he was the one in control and that Will was the one who was being taken advantage of. He offered to drive the man back to his place, as the man had taken a cab to the bar. He took them to Wolf Trap without another thought.

When they were inside the house, he broke out his whiskey and poured them both a couple of fingers. He went back to the kitchen for a cup of water, giving the man some time to pour the roofies into Will's drink. 

Will didn't think of the consequences as he tucked his pocket knife into his back pocket. He didn't think of the repercussions when he walked back into the living room and straddled the man's lap. On the couch he didn't think of the aftermath as he leaned in close and kissed the man breathless to distract him. Will didn't think of anything other than the elation, the power, as he pulled the knife from his back pocket and had thrust it into the man's throat. 

Blood bubbled out of the man's throat and a hoarse cry of pain followed. The light in the man's eyes disappeared. No longer did Will have to evade the man's gaze, his stare, because there was nothing left. Will suddenly went from being able to see and feel everything that the man was to silent emptiness. His own mind was quiet, for once in his life, as he kept eye contact with the corpse on his sofa.

Empowered, strong, controlled; Will's body was thrumming with arousal and adrenaline. Mere seconds ago he had killed a man like it was nothing, and he felt _wonderful_.

Finally (finally, you say) Will thought of the situation. He knew, rationally, that he had to take care of the body. He could claim it was self defense, that he had the pocket knife in his jeans and that the man had threatened him...But he didn't want to tell anyone the sob story. He didn't want to make himself a victim, nor did he want the pity that would surely accompany it.

No, Will wanted _praise_. He wanted the attention in a different format. This was a prize that needed to be displayed, to be admired. He had won over this man, won against his intentions and won the right to showcase his victory. Will wasn't going to claim sympathy from anyone. 

He had put on some gloves and got to work washing the body of evidence; dog hair on his clothes, fingerprints on his skin, the saliva on his lips. Will's eyes were drawn to the dark blood that contrasted against the man's throat, and with another new set of gloves he smeared the red fluid against the man's lips. He was going to showcase his prize and wanted everyone to know the passion behind it. He wanted everyone to see what kind of man the victim was, and wanted people to know what would happen if anyone tried to take advantage of him again. 

He dumped the cleaned corpse 50 miles away in Baltimore and thought about what kind of new sofa he would buy later that week. 

It became a habit of sorts. Particularly tough cases were always followed by _outings_. He expanded his territory, never wanting to lurk around the same bar twice just in case anyone recognized him. He let his empathy run wild, seeking out the dark souls who looked at him and only saw a plaything, not a person. He always brought them back to his place and made sure he had the next day off to be able to make the disposal easier. He knew what the FBI would be looking for and knew what forensics would keep an eye on and made sure his clean up was thorough.

Newspapers and reporters had started calling him _Cupid_. The red smear of passion on the victims' faces had apparently brought him up as a romantic soul, one who played with his dates and made sure their last moments were spent in ecstasy. He always left a smile on their faces, because he wanted his audience to know that the victims had asked for this - they were more than happy to die in the name of the lust that had overcome their actions.

Soon, he found out he had a _fanbase_. Online forums and tabloid articles discussed his kills and speculated about who he was as a person. They critiqued his kills just as much as they swooned over them. It was Will's guilty pleasure to visit these websites, just because he was so curious about how people outside of the FBI viewed his secret persona.

He knew he should stop, but he couldn't help it. He was addicted to the attention. Will knew the inner workings of the FBI and thought about other serial killers for a living, and now that he was one he was nervous about his own performances. 

It didn't help that the Chesapeake Ripper had started to admire him, too.

Will was a fan of the Ripper, in both his professional work and in his private life. He loved the artistic value the Ripper added to each and every one of his murders, and admired the work he put into his kills. His attention to detail was astounding and Will's breath was taken away with each new Ripper scene he saw, whether it was from the newspaper or seeing it first hand. And when the Ripper had started to emulate him - _him_ , Cupid, of all killers! - by adding his signature bloodied lips to some of his crimes, Will couldn't help the fluttering of his heart. Just the thought of possibly being serenaded by the Ripper made his knees weak. Each crime scene that Jack took him to was a test of his patience. He had to keep his true feelings in check and keep himself detached, when all he wanted to do was throw himself over the police tape and intimately get to know each and every part of his gift.

He couldn't risk flirting back. Letting the public know that Cupid and the Ripper were smitten was something Will didn't want to bring attention to. No, he kept it to himself. He lied to Jack about the Ripper's intentions and kept his kills as tame as possible. 

However, now he had taken a chance. He's never been to a convention before and has actually actively avoided this one ever since he heard about it. He was still too new to killing, still too nervous and self conscious. He remembers what they had named it the first year, the _Evil Minds_ convention, and it had just rubbed him the wrong way every time he heard the name or saw it as an advertisement on the side of his forum page. Thank God for new management with better advertising skills. 

So currently, with more self assurance and a best friend who convinced him that he'd possibly run into his _murder boyfriend_ at the convention, he signed up for a booth. Beverly, his convincing best friend, went on and on about how _Doctor Hannibal Lecter_ was going to be hosting a panel that year, and _wouldn't it be fun to host a kissing booth in case he came over? You are Cupid, after all._

He was still nervous for the convention, but for an entirely different reason. Because now, the possibility of meeting Hannibal was real. All of Beverly's teasing couldn't have prepared him for the moment of Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper, walking up to his booth with every intention of kissing a very star struck Will. 

He hadn't stuttered, though. Will was as smooth as he could be, even cracking a joke about the price of his kisses. He was confident when he impulsively pulled Hannibal down to kiss him, and he was confident when he had told off Hannibal's very annoying fanboy for disturbing them. He was even confident when he invited Hannibal back to his hotel room for _more_.

But now? Now Will is a stupidly hot, disgusting mess who doesn't know what to do with himself. He knows he's been in the bathroom for far too long, and being a poor host to the man who's probably wondering what even he's doing here with Will. 

Hannibal was smitten with Cupid, not Will. The man didn't sign up for Will Graham, the man who can't even go to sleep without putting towels over his sheets in case he had night sweats. It's a mistake, he knows it is. Will can't wine and dine unless he knows he'll be slashing a neck at the end of the night, and God only knows what would happen if he slashed the Chesapeake Ripper - but that's out of the question, because he very much wants this man _alive_. This is the man who's plagued his mind for years, even before his time at the FBI academy. He finally has a chance to know the man and to have someone who could truly understand him in return.

Will swallows harshly and finally turns the doorknob to the bathroom. This is as good as he's going to get.

Hannibal is sitting on the bed in the main part of the hotel room and looks as elegant as ever. His suit jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up, but other than that he's still dressed. Maybe he doesn't want to move too fast or assume too much - Will did say he owed him kisses, not the full package. Not that he wouldn't _mind_ the full package...

The other man looks at Will as he comes into the room and gives him a soft smile. He can tell Will's nervous, taking in the sweat on his brow and his crossed arms as he tries to curl in on himself. He gets up and slowly walks to where Will is frozen at the bathroom doorway.

"Are you alright?" Hannibal asks. He brings his hand up to cup Will's cheek and rubs his thumb against his skin, much like he had earlier, attempting to soothe him. "I was worried you had changed your mind."

"No! No, I was just..." Will gulps and glances off to the side, focusing instead on the patterned carpet underneath their feet. He can do this, he _can_. He kills people at the drop of a hat, so feelings shouldn't be this hard to admit. "I'm just not used to this. You're the most wanted man in America - literally. And I haven't..."

Hannibal chuckles at his words. "I must confess, my darling, that I do not intend to make this a one night stand. We can take this as slow, or as fast, as you prefer. There is no need to rush perfection."

 _Perfection_ , he calls it. Hannibal calling this, them, _perfection_ just succeeds in making Will feel even more vulnerable than before.

"You don't even know me. How can you be so sure of this?" Will can't help but question him. He brings his hands up to play with Hannibal's tie, not undoing it or tugging, rather he fiddles with the fabric to keep himself further occupied. He can't look Hannibal in the eye just yet.

"Your work tells me all I need to know to be assured of this; of my feelings for you. I do not take matters of the heart lightly." Hannibal hasn't stopped stroking his cheek, and his other hand settles on Will's waist. "I meant what I said in the venue. I wish to see more of your mind, because you are magnificent. I have tried to complete the profile for Cupid in my mind, and yet I see that is impossible because you, Will Graham, are unlike anyone I have ever met. I wish to see the man behind the blood, if you would do me the honor."

Will really can't look at Hannibal now. "How are you so calm? I..." He shakes his head. "Will Graham is nothing like Cupid. You'll get to know me and the gritty details will ruin the perfection you've built up in your head."

"I would like to be the judge of that, William." He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Will's neck. The scent of Old Spice, Snuggle dryer sheets and dog should be appalling, but Hannibal inhales it like it's the most divine mix of scents in the world. "Will you allow me to indulge myself?" He presses another kiss just a little higher, just under his ear, and Will can't fight the chill that runs up his spine.

This isn't like feeling he gets when he kills, but instead it's its own brand of passion. Will's mind is blissfully blank, and the tightness in his chest is overwhelming. He's being swept away by Hannibal and he doesn't fight the pull of desire.

Will doesn't think as he presses himself against Hannibal. Will doesn't let himself worry, his nerves now alight with arousal instead of apprehension. He doesn't pull away, but lets Hannibal cage him in his arms. He gasps, and jerks, and the only coherent thought that occupies his mind is Hannibal, Hannibal, _Hannibal_.

He lets himself drown in the man before him, not bothering to think about coming up for air.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Will, you sad muffin. 
> 
> The title is a reference to the song [Dance Halls Turn to Ghost Towns](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWVRkeHXzvc) by the Audition. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely feedback so far. I'm posting this before I can fret over it any more. I'm not 100% satisfied with this, so hopefully any upcoming installments will be better.


End file.
